Tempting Danger
by swimxsweetie115
Summary: Prologue to Shattered, not yet released . As if young Marian's life isn't stressful often, here is it, colliding with a teenage fugitives. Is he causing sparks or causing danger?
1. Author's Note

Author's Note

What's up guys? My name's Hayley, and this is my very first fanfic. squeal I know, I'm excited too. :

So here's what it's about:

Marian is 11 years old, turning 12 soon. Her and her father do not live by anyone that is her own age, so as the honest truth, she does not have any friends. She's been her father's little helper for as long as she can remember, but she will never take the label of Maid Marian. Although stubborn and strong, she is just as much kind. 

On one ordinary day, her father, Edward, discovers a teenage boy, poor and dirty, lying unconsciously near the house. Startled, he takes this boy into his home and finds that he is injured severely. Marian has a bad feeling he will be living in her home for a while now. What happens when this mysterious boy's past turns Marian's life upside down? Who will be the next one to suffer?

SPOILER WARNING – SEASON 2 FINALE

I'm pretty bad at summaries, I know, I know. Hey, for all you Robin Hood fans, I just saw the Season Finale of Season 2. That was awful! Of course they had to kill off the character that made the romance in the whole show worth watching! I really hope something happens to bring Marian back . . .

Until then, please enjoy my fanfic! Haha . . 

PS – Before I start writing this, I may need someone to answer a question of mine – When Marian and her father are living together, where are they living? Locksley? Sherwood? I'm really bad with all of the locations and stuff, don't flame me for that. And if I happen to screw with the actual plot of Robin Hood, keep in mind I'm making this stuff up. It's not real or anything, I'm just going to guess that some of the stuff happens. (Disclaimer – I do not own the title of Robin Hood or anything having to do with Robin Hood)

When my question is answered, then I'll start writing! Thanks, guy. Peace out!


	2. A Visitor

**Ohhh, Knighton. I knew that. Ahhh, first chapter! So excited. Any typos, I apologize. I'm not perfect, my friends all know it. Please enjoy! squeal This is so cool…**

CHAPTER ONE – A Visitor

I stormed through the front door of my home without a moment's hesitation. I dropped my bow and arrow in the doorway, too frustrated to care if it would get stepped on. Even at that time, I _hoped_ it did get stepped on. I plopped down on the couch in front of the fireplace, which was ready but unlit. From the corner of my eye, I could see my father from the kitchen, sipping his morning tea in a calmer manor than what I was acting. He was staring at me with concern, as if I was a crazy intruder he had never seen before.

"Where's your bow?" was the first thing he asked me.

I groaned and adjusted the pillow under my head. "Hopefully blown away with the wind!" I answered shortly, crossing my arms as I lied there on my back.

The sound of my father pushing back his chair filled my ears. "Come now," he said, barely soothingly. "I thought you loved archery."

I looked and noticed my father leaning over me, his smiling face lightening my mood a bit. "I'm no good, Father," I told him firmly. "It's hopeless! I can't –"

"What a surprise!" Father exclaimed. A big frown flashed across his face, but his large, grey eyes were smiling. "My only daughter is willingly quitting archery! Unbelievable! How could I have raised her to become a quitter in life?"

"I'm no quitter!" I retorted, beaming because this was not the first time we had this conversation. "It's hard, as all. I can barely hold the bow straight."

"That's because the bow is bigger than you, miss." He smiled again and reached down to tickle my sides. Uncontrollably laughing, I begged him to stop. He had a point there. I was shorter than most girls my age – not that I knew many girls my age. It was lonely from where I lived. Of course, I would've never admitted to it. That would just stressed Father out even more than he already was, with money and bills and all. I wanted to be strong in front of him, and I couldn't let him down just because my social life wasn't perfect.

"Marian," he said, straightening up, "please get your bow and arrow and put it in your room. At least keep it for a clear day."

"Right," I mumbled with a fake smile. I rose from my spot and sauntered to the front door, which I evidently left half open.

"There's a good girl," I heard him muttered as he went back to his tea. I let out a loud sigh. A good girl. Was that all I was?

I placed my beat-up bow and twig-like arrow in my room, next to my nicely made bed. After that, I trotted back downstairs to talk with my father again. "Shall you be going into the market today?" I asked him politely, my hands folded behind my back.

He took a big swallow from his teacup. "Indeed," he answered surely. "We are a bit short on food. Can you wait for lunch?"

"Of course," I replied with a nod and then looked down at the ground, avoiding his gaze. "Um, might I –?"

"No, Marian, you may not come with me," Father answered already, his face like stone; hard and cold.

"But please, Father?" I pleaded uneasily. "It can get so boring here by myself!"

"The locks aren't sturdy, Marian," he explained to me, even though I was already aware of this. "I need someone home in case a robber comes along." He stood and to the teacup to the dirty sink.

"But I —"

"Marian," he stated, giving me one of his warning looks. It shut me up. "Good girl. I'm off," he told me, kissed me on the forehead, and walked on passed me, checking how much money was really in his pocket.

"Be careful," I told him quickly.

"I will! Be back soon."

He shut the door behind him, and the house grew quiet. I sighed again and crossed my arms.

It was about ten seconds later when I heard Father's voice beckoning for me.

My heartbeat thumped inside my ears as I ran to open the door. The moment I did, my father toppled inside, carrying a boy in his arms. The whole scene sent me in a shock, and I back against the wall to catch my breath. I watched my father rush up the stairs, the boy lying limp in his arms. It was one of those moments when I really had to ask myself, _Is this really happening?_ Once he reached the top of the staircase, he made a right into a room . . . my room!"

"Father!" I cried, rushing up the stairs. What in the hell was happening! I dashed into my room just as Father was placing the boy gently on my bed. _My_ bed!

"What's happening?" I demanded, approached the scene. "Who's that?"

My father looked wary and worried, the way he looked at me when I became ill. "I don't know," he breathed, his eyes wide with fear. "He was lying outside the house just like this. I don't know what's wrong with –"

My scream stopped him midsentence. "What!" he yelled back, still out of breath.

I pointed at the boy's leg in horror. There was a huge gash on his leg, a very big bite mark that sunk in so very deep, it was probably possible that the bone wasn't too deeper. Blood covered his right leg and was seeping into my bedspread. I looked away immediately, my stomach flipping. I thought I would puke.

"I know! It's awful!" My father was speaking fast and breathlessly. "I need you to get a bucket of hot water and two big rags. I'll get the cloth and tape from the attic. God, I hope I have enough. Please hurry, Marian!"

I wouldn't disappoint.

The rags weren't hard to find, but the water pressure in the house was low, and it took a while to fill a big wooden bucket. My mind was whirling. Who was this boy? Why haven't I seen him before, when I went to practice my archery earlier? I waited until the bucket was full to the top and then I lifted it up quickly, causing some of it to spill onto the floor. I made a note to clean that up later. Even more spilt as I dashed up the stairs. I cursed my clumsiness.

My father had not come back from the attic yet, and I was alone with this boy. I put the rags and bucket next to my bed carefully. I got a chance to look at the boy, trying to not pay attention to the serious wound on his leg. He looked like a rat; a poor, scruffy rat from the forest. I guessed he was about fifteen years of age. He had messy brown hair that fell over his forehead. His face was pale and scratched up dramatically, but his features were quite handsome. He wore clothes from a delicate material, not very sturdy at all. They had a mucky-colored green to them and smelt like the bark of an oak tree, which was exactly to my liking. He was missing a boot, revealing a muddy, bloody, beat-up foot, to match his right leg. This boy was a wreck. I stood for a moment, wondering, hoping he was still alive . . .

"Marian, what are you doing?!" Father enthused, rushing to the boy with the tape and a roll of stable cloth. "Start cleaning the blood as best you can!"

I was shocked and disgusted by his request, but I couldn't let my bedspread get even bloodier – not that it really mattered anymore. I rubbed the rag around the wound, trying not to stare. I dipped the rag into the bucket, and the water turned bright red. "Father, what are we going to do?" I asked, desperately wanting to get this over with.

Father began unrolling the cloth. "There isn't much we can do," he answered, a bit sadly. "I'll patch him up. I'm afraid I don't have any ointment to use. Don't stop, Marian, keep cleaning!"

I cleaned until the material of the leg of his pants was stained a dark pink color. The wound was still bleeding, though. I was then told to lift the boy's leg while my father taped the wound with the cloth. I looked away as he did this. We weren't doctors, and we had never had this kind of situation come up before, but it was a good thing we had a first aid kit in the attic.

"What about a doctor?" I questioned nervously, without even taking a glance at the scene. "What if this is more serious than we think?"

I heard my father grunt. "Now Marian, you know we can't afford a doctor." I heard the snap of the unrolling tape, then a long pause. "Okay, lower his leg gently."

I glanced back cautiously. The wound on his leg was covered with the white cloth. The only blood that remained was stuck on my bedspread. Blimey. I let his leg fall onto the bed and gazed up at my father with curious eyes. "Will he be alright?" I asked softly.

He nodded back assumingly. "I'm sure so," he replied. He took the other rag from the bucket and wiped it slowly against the boy's face. "We have to wait until he wakes up."

"How long will that take?" It was a stupid question, but I wasn't exactly thinking straight that day.

Father looked at me, trying hard not to say, "Are you sane? How am I suppose to know?" Instead he said, "I don't know, Marian."

"He is . . . I mean, he's breathing, isn't he?"

"Yes . . ." he said uncertainly. In a panicked manor, he leaned his ear against the boy's chest and listened. A moment later he let out a sigh of relief. "Yes, yes, He'll be fine." He leaned up again and pushed the hair away from the boy's forehead, a caring gesture that my father wouldn't usually use to strangers. "He'll be weak when he wakes up, though. We cannot barrage him with many questions."

I shivered. What if this boy was some sort of maniac criminal?

"What of the groceries?" I inquired as my father made his way to the door.

He turned to face me again, giving me a look that made me feel stupid. "Do you expect me to leave you in the house with a stranger?" he demanded, his brow furrowed.

I scoffed, glancing from the unconscious boy to my father. "Well, he doesn't look capable of much, now does he?" I snapped fiercely, irritated with my father's lack of trust in me.

"Marian," he warned.

"Well, what are we supposed to do, Father? We've no food!"

"We've enough for the day. We'll live."

"And him!" I pointed at the boy, my blood beginning to boil. Couldn't my father see that this was a big deal? A bigger deal than he was making out of it! "There's an unconscious boy lying in my bed. Where am I to sleep tonight?" We only had two beds in the house, after all.

"Well, you've got two choices," he countered, taking a calmer route. "One; you may sleep in my bed. It's a double, after all. And two; you could take the couch downstairs. Not the comfiest of places, but it'll do for the night."

I did not plan on sleeping in the same bed as my father. I used to do that all the time, when there was a big thunderstorm. I used to sneak into Father's room and curl up next to him, whimpering frighteningly. "The angel's are bowling," he would say with a laugh. "Don't let them keep you up." But those were simple days. I no longer liked taking Mum's place in bed. My mother's been dead for a while now, and I still burst into tears when I think about her. Loosing someone you love so much is difficult, extremely difficult. That was why I had made a vow not to leave my father's house until I was married. I never ever wanted to loose him. Sleeping in that bed wasn't the same anymore. I told him I would much rather sleep on the couch in front of the fireplace.

"That's fine by me," he answered gruffly. He gazed over my shoulder at the boy. "I'll check on him every thirty minutes, to see how he's doing." My father was always so exactly. "Until then, I suggest you keep yourself occupied with something. Knitting, for example! Maybe knit the boy a sock." I saw his glance to the boy's naked left foot. "Perhaps he may need one."

**Yay, I finished a chapter! Ahaha, what'd you guys think? Review, Favorite, do whatever you want. Let me know if I left you on the edge of your seat, left you in tears, or left you pissed off because you thought it sucked. :**

**Stay tuned for CHAPTER TWO**

**When Marian is rejected from her other playmates…**

**…will she soon realize she's better off dancing with the devil?**


	3. Angry Tears

**Guys, I'm like really excited right now. This is only the second chapter, and I already have reviews. Haha, yay! Thank you guys so much for reviewing. I really apprectiate it, it keeps me writing.**

**This chapter's like way shorter, but I already start No. 3, so don't worry, there's more to come. Well, here we go! xoxo**

CHAPTER THREE - Angry Tears

The day dragged on dramatically. My father stayed home, anxiously waiting for our visitor to awaken. I suppose I was a little anxious myself. Why hadn't I saw that boy earlier in the day? Was it possible he had just came as I was leaving the forest? And what the bloody happened to him?! What horrible beast could've sunken their teeth that far into his leg? It was dreadful to think about, and I only wished he would wake up to I could get some answers out of him.

Besides there being an unconscious boy in my bed, the day was like any other. I spent most of my days practicing archery, but because of the strange episode that day, my father declared he didn't want me outside. Not that I was planning to be outside much (it wasn't like I had any hope in archery). So I knitted the rest of the day. I was lucky I took up knitting at a young age. It was my stress-reliever, and saved me and my father money on socks.

I kept glancing out the window. It was a perfect day; not a cloud in the sunny sky. It would be a crime not to go out and enjoy. But I didn't feel the need to bug my father anymore. He's been through a lot today. Although, at three o'clock when he said he was going to get more firewood, I couldn't resist jumping to the chance.

"Please!" I begged continuously when my father said no. "I won't be long. I just want to take a breath of fresh air, as all."

"What do you mean, fresh air?" he said quizzically. "We've got every window in the house opened!"

"Father," I muttered, giving him a daring look that said, "You know what I mean."

He sighed, a defeated sigh, and I knew of my victory.

"Thank you!" I squealed, sprinting to the door before he could even think about changing his mind. "I'll only be a moment."

I heard my father say something else, but it muffled out as I close the door behind me. The afternoon sun greeted me warmly. Before doing anything else, I took in this picture; the sun overlooking the orange and brown leaves in the most majestic forest. Fall was no doubt my favorite season. I loved all the red and orange and brown leaves that travelled along the currents of the wind.

My father chopped wood from spring to summer, and made giant piles for fall and winter. These piles stayed at the side of house, where anyone could hop over the fence and take them. I was constantly trying to explain to my father that in the winter, the winds will be heavy, and the lighter blocks of wood may drift farther away. We would go buy a cover for the piles, but we had to save our money for more important things . . . like food.

I decided to pick up a big log today, so we would survive through the night. Just as I picked up a nice-looking log, from the corner of my eye I could see a group of adolescents standing near the fence. They were six of them, four boys and two girls, all of about sixteen of seventeen years of age. One of them told a joke, and they cackled in harmony. There was a empty place in my heart that rang out, asking for attention. One of the girls glanced over at me, mid-laugh. Now was my chance to make a friend.

"Hi," I said smoothly, trying to act cool.

The others looked over also, all wearing blank faces. Some of the guys waved and smiled. That lifted my spirits a bit. One of them whispered something to the girls, and they giggled hysterically, staring at me with cold eyes. I wanted to laugh along, but I had a bad feeling that the joke was on me.

And as if things couldn't get any worse . . .

"Marian!" my father hissed, sticking his head far out the window. His eyes were narrow and fierce. "Bring the log in this second!"

As I walked back to the house, I could hear the group scoffing and whispering. My fists balled up, and my face flushed red. I don't know what I was angrier about; my father embarrassing me, or me embarrassing myself! I could feel tears welling up in my eyes and I forced them back, now even angrier that I was close to crying. How come I couldn't be like a normal kid? With _friends? _What was it about me that no one liked? Was it just the location of where my house was? Or I didn't look like everyone else? I never thought I was pretty, but could it be that some people considered me ugly? Or too aggressive? Or too strange? I hid my face as I entered the front.

"Marian, what have I always taught you?" I heard my father's voice demand. I stared at the ground and did not answer as I made my way to the fireplace. "Never talk to strangers!" the voice continued. I mumbled an apology, placing the log careful into the pit.

"I'll light it," he said roughly, and I still refused to look at him. "Please go check on the boy. Make sure he's still breathing."

I wasn't sure if he was joking or not; either way, that sentence made me uneasy. I rushed passed him, felt his hand try to grab mine. I didn't let it. Blinking rapidly to stop the tears, I ran up the stairs, the sound of my shoes hitting each stair was loud in my ears. I reached the top, and turned right into my room, slamming the door behind me. My breathing was heavy and scarce. I leaned my back against the wall and slid down, until I was sitting on the hardwood floor, hugging my knees like a baby. My head tipped back and I shut my eyes, wanting to leave this room, this house, this town. Wanting to get away from everyone in the world. No one understood. No one ever understood . . .

"Is this . . . ?"

Two simple words spoken by voice too weak to say anything else. This was a new voice, a calmer, better voice. But a shocking voice. And when I looked up, I was staring into the most gorgeous pair of hazel eyes I had ever seen.

The boy was awake.

**Ohhhhh, he's awake! Can you guess who he is?? Haha, I would hope so. Review, Favorite, Suggest, help me out here. Love it, hate it, sick of my dumb-ass typos? Let me know, I won't take anything the wrong way. Hey, is Locksley far from Knighton? And is Sherwood anywhere near Knighton? (Sorry guys, I know like nothing). **

**STAY TUNED for CHAPTER THREE!**

**find out what really happened to Marian's little visitor**

**xox, hayley**


	4. Sleeping Beauty

**I'm baaaaaacckkk! Ahahaha, sorry for the delay, but I've been going through some emotional times. But hey, I updated finally! I wanted to thank everyone who reviewed so far. I really apprectiate it. Oh yeah, disclaimer - don't own the title of Robin Hood. That would be cool, though. Okay, enjoy!**

**CHAPTER THREE - Sleeping Beauty**

--

I would've gasped, but my breath caught in my throat. I stood up quickly, brushing my dress hastily. The ceiling light caught the boy's eyes, and they shimmered brilliantly at me. My face went hot as I stood there like a fool, waiting for this boy to speak again. He only stared, and there was something about the way he looked at me, the gleam in his eye . . .

I could hardly believe how quickly I had forgotten that this boy could be out to kill me!

I backed up to the doorway and stopped to yell, "Father, can you come up here?"

"What's happening?" the boy asked sternly, sitting up on my bed. His voice was stronger now, but still scared and helpless.

My heart skipped a beat as I saw him make an attempt to stand up. "No! Don't –"

He didn't listen to me. I know I wouldn't. Just as he was going to swing his legs over to the side of the bed, he stopped midway, feeling the horrible pain of the gash in his leg. He let out a loud, agonizing yell and crashed backwards, his head hitting the pillow hard and fast. My hand flew to my mouth, startled, and I shouted for my father again, more urgently this time. The boy held his leg in place, where the wound was, and was wincing a great deal. What could I have done? I stood there like stone while this boy was in excruciating pain!

My father darted into the room, nearly knocking me down. He ran to the patient. "Don't panic, don't panic, lower your leg, lower your leg . . ." He spoke to the boy as if he were a surgeon; very urgently and hastily. "Don't move, don't move . . . there." The boy managed to lower his leg back down to the bed, muttering curses of how bad it hurt. My father stepped back and stared at the boy for a moment, deciding on how to judge him probably. He coughed and asked, "Are you okay?"

"No!" the boy answered rudely and winced again. His breathing was irregularly intense. He did not look at either my father or me. "Wh-Where am I?" he spluttered, slightly trembling.

Father cleared his throat again. "You're in our cottage. Eh, my name's Edward Fitzwalter **(A\N: Omg, here I am, in the middle of my story! Listen, I know I've seen Marian's last name before (I forgot where) and I know it isn't Fitzwalter, but the older legend of Robin Hood says it was Fitzwalter, enough though I know it isn't in the BBC series. I'm sorry about that, I'm just improvising. Okay, I shall continue!)** and this is my daughter, Marian." He glanced back at me. I hadn't moved from the doorway. I didn't think I could. But he motioned me to come over, and my legs told me to walk.

The boy finally looked up as my father put his arm around my shoulders. "What's your name?" my father questioned friendly-like.

I could see that the boy was deciding on whether to trust us or not. He swallowed timidly. "Hood," he said plainly. When my father and I exchanged glances: "Robin Hood. Of Locksley."

"Locksley," my father mimicked, suddenly getting interested. "What brings you to Knighton?"

He turned away a moment, shutting his eyes, thinking. I gazed at him sideways. There was something about him that I really hated, but at the same time mesmerized me. What it his age? His attitude? His awfully handsome face? I shouldn't have thought that way about a boy much older than myself. But there were sparks running through my veins and I couldn't make them stop. I came back to reality when he answered my father's question.

"I lost my way in Sherwood," he mumbled, as if he was hiding something. "It was nightfall, and I didn't have my lighter."

Father's eyes went wide at the word _lighter_. I squeezed his hand, hoping he wouldn't lecture the boy about how dangerous lighter's are. "Well then . . . what about your leg? It looks as if you were bitten."

Robin glanced at his leg thoughtfully. When he looked back up, his eyes were wide with excitement. "Wolves. Five of them, at _least_." He sounded more like a storyteller.

"Wolves!" Father exclaimed. "You poor boy. How did you escape?"

I rolled my eyes, trying not to scoff heartlessly. This was the fakest thing I've ever heard, but I kept my mouth shut.

"It wasn't easy," the boy said with a sympathetic sigh. He was enjoying this way too much. "One of them attacked, and the rest came in. It was a struggling fight, but something—or someone, perhaps—scared them off. I didn't see what—or who. Once they were gone, I limped the rest of the way here."

"Blimey," my father breathed. I glanced at him, noticing his shocked expression. He believed him! He believed this stranger who he knew for two minutes! "You're lucky you didn't bleed to death."

Robin paused, and then took another gaze at me. I turned away when he did this.

"Well, I believe you're all patched up for now," Father stated, holding his hands behind his back like my headmistress used to do. "Eh, is there anyone I can find to get you back home to Locksley? A guardian, perhaps?"

The boy winced again, but I didn't think it was of physical pain this time. "No," he murmured, gulping. "There is no one. My parents died when I was young."

My father wetted his lips, blushing when he realized he had said something very wrong. "I'm so very sorry," he told him quietly. "Where have you been staying, then?"

"An orphanage," he managed out with difficulty. "But I've passed the age limit. They were to set me up for an arranged marriage to get me out of there." He sighed heavily, looking up at the ceiling. "That's the last thing I want."

If he was lying, he was a good liar. I glanced at my father again. He was thinking hard about the situation. Surely he wasn't thinking about letting this boy stay with _us_! In _my_ bed!

"Well, Robin," Father finally said, with a small, gloomy smile. "You are welcome to stay here for as long as you need to." I could see my father was choosing his words carefully, as he said "for as long as you _need_ to".

Robin beamed gratefully. "I appreciate that, sir. I assure you, once I get back on my feet, I'll be on my way back to Locksley."

"No rush. And you may call me Edward."

I cleared my throat noisily, loud enough for all eyes to be on me. I gave my father a look, a look that was supposed to say, "Don't trust this boy".

He understood. "One more thing," he said strictly, shifting his weight from foot to foot. "I need to know if you have any weapons on you. Just for safe keeping."

Robin had to think about that one. "No . . .," he replied uncertainly. Then he shook his head assumingly. "No, no weapons."

"Very well. We'll leave you now. If you need anything, you may call for either me or Marian." As he made for a leave, he stopped and turned around. "Preferably Marian, though. I may be out of the house a while."

I froze, including my heart. "Pardon?" I whispered, for only my father's ears.

"We've no food," he whispered back blandly.

I stared at him, my brow furrowed, my blood beginning to boil all over again. "May I have a word with you?" I hissed, staring expectantly.

Father saw this coming, and excused us both to Robin as I pulled him out of the room.

"Marian, you shouldn't be so rude," he told me. All when _I _was the one who wanted to lecture _him_! "Especially we we've got company."

"How can you go to the market _now_?" I snapped, and he shushed me so Robin wouldn't hear us.

"We'll starve if I don't, Marian!" he snapped back. "Besides, you've been home alone before."

"Yes, _alone_. Without some . . . _creep_ in the house telling us his sob story, which probably isn't even true!" I exclaimed, but in a silent voice. "Father, we don't even know this boy."

"Come now, Marian. He seems harmless. He doesn't have any weapons."

"What if he lied about that?"

"Rubbish."

I wasn't going to win. I hated not winning. I searched for another reason for him not to leave. "What if . . . he has people around here, surrounding the house as we speak?" I know, that was kind of overdramatic, but this was all too much for me.

My father scoffed at that. "I doubt he knows many people. He's an orphan."

My hand slapped against my forehead comically. "Father, I don't think you understand –"

"Marian, listen to me," he said soothingly, putting his hands on my shoulders. "I'll only be fifteen minutes, at most. He won't do you any harm, I'm sure."

How could he be so sure?

"How can you be so sure?" I asked softly, feeling like the wind was just knocked out of me.

"Trust me." My father kissed my forehead and stuck his head back in the doorway, to tell Robin where he was going and that he wouldn't be long. I watched my father trot down the stairs, grab his jacket, and rush out the door without another word of good-bye. It suddenly felt very chilly. I crossed my arms over my chest and winced. As much as I hated to admit it, I was scared. Very scared, more like.

--

**Ahhh, that was cool! What'd you think? Review and tell me if you loved it, hated it, and suggest what you want to happen next. I wanna hear what you guys want to happen before I start writing the next chapter! Sorry for typos, if any (I'm sure there was). See ya round!**

**STAY TUNED for CHAPTER FOUR**

**what's the truth behind this goof from Locksley? Marian's determined to find out**

**xoxo, hayley**


	5. A Grouchy Conversation

**Hello. If anyone is still reading this and mad that I haven't updated until, I thank you for still being here. Haha! What's up guys? Sorry for another delay. I've been shopping. No, serious, I've shopping like non-stop lately for school stuff. Grrr, school.. I'm scared, though, that I won't have the time to write this story when school starts. I got a lot of stuff going to for me this year. I'll try to update as much as possible, I promise. Sorry for typos, if any. Disclaimer - don't own Robin Hood title.**

**Enjoy! xxooxx**

**CHAPTER FOUR - A Grouchy Conversation**

**--**

For about five minutes, I sat on the couch and stared at the fireplace, not moving, just thinking. It sounds pretty pathetic, I know. My mind was foggy. I tried to recap; Father carried some bastard from Locksley into our home, placed him on my bed, and believed every single lie he told us. Damn it. It was strange for me, though; nothing exciting ever happened in my home. Nothing. My life was nothing much at all, ever since—well, my mother. For someone new to come into my life and take over for the time being, it—well, it frustrated me! And now we're alone.

What is _wrong_ with my father? That was one of the main questions running through my mind. He left me. Alone. With a boy who is _seemingly_ a sweet orphan. Why would my father be so—dumb? I sighed deeply.

I glanced at the clock. Six minutes had pasted. How come times goes by so slowly?

Everyone had something that calmed you down where you were stressed—or was that just me? Anyways, I read my favorite book when I was stressed out. It was a children's book, the old fable of Peter Cottontail. My mother used to read me the story when I was a youngster. It always helped me through the hard times, even though it sounded pretty stupid now. I rose up to go get it, then stopped at the stairway and groaned. The book was in my room, which was being occupied by an "orphan".

But I wanted that book and was determined to get it. _Maybe he won't talk to me,_ I thought hopefully as I tiptoed silently up the steps. _After all, he doesn't know me; he probably just wants to be left alone._

I stood next to the doorway of my room, my back glued against the wooden wall. For some reason, I was starting to get really excited, as if I was about to parachute off of the roof. _This is pathetic,_ I told myself.

_No, _a voice in the back of my head answered. _This is sneaky_.

Taking a deep breath, I turned the corner and stormed into my room. I avoided the eyes of Locksley, hoping he would get the memo that I didn't feel like chatting. I stomped over to my bookcase. It wasn't really a bookcase, because it was very small and only had five books in it, not-so neatly sacked. I grabbed the second one down. "Peter Cottontail", it read, showing a cute, white rabbit on the front cover, looking over at a field with yummy veggies he was determined to take. Satisfied, I spun on my heals and sauntered to the door, without speaking or looking at Locksley. He could've been asleep for all I knew! It wasn't hard at all, and it didn't feel that sneaky. Just as I almost felt proud of myself, just as I was almost out the door . . .

A whistle. A loud, beckoning whistle, coming from behind me. All of that pride washed away and only left frustration as I turned slowly and meet the eyes of the boy. "Did you just whistle for me?" I asked sternly.

If only you could see it. The most innocent face I had ever seen in my entire life. He looked almost like an angel, with his hands folded neatly, his eyes big and harmless. He lowered his bottom lip and shrugged gradually, looking from left to right. "Wasn't me," he replied in a sweet but sly voice.

I glared at him, my eyes narrow and menacing. "It's Robin, right?"

"Nice to meet you."

"Not really."

He grinned anyways, not even noticing my rejection towards him. Butterflies flapped in my stomach. I never knew that feeling, until now. He nodded towards "Peter Cottontail", stuck in my hand. "What's that you got there?"

I glanced downwards dumbly and back at him. "It's called a book," I hissed at him. I could somehow guess he was trying to be friendly, but I still wouldn't let my guard down.

Suddenly, Robin's face fell and he gazed upon the room he was in, as if it were a magical castle or something. He winced in a realization, and I knew what it was. "This is your room, isn't it?" he asked carefully.

I nodded, for my mouth wouldn't make any words. He sighed, rolling his eyes. "Damn. I'm sorry," he told me kindly.

"Why?" I questioned, not rudely but curiously.

"Well, here I am, in a different town, in a different house, lying in a different bed, which belongs to you." He raised his eyebrows at him knowingly. "I figure you'd be upset by that."

I was taken aback, and slightly disturbed by that last statement. "_I_ figure you don't know me," I snarled at him, irritated. "And you shouldn't be assuming of my emotions."

Robin gazed at me, giving me a funny look. He cocked his head sideways, his eyes searching and somewhat dazzling. "You have some temper," he stated clearly.

"You have some nerve!" I responded, though I knew I was blushing by his bold comment.

"I'll I said was that I'm sorry if I am in your way."

"Well you could've said it in a nicer way."

I did not know much about this strange boy, but I knew one thing off the bat; I hated him. I stared at the book in my hands, not wanting to stare into those heavenly accusing eyes anymore. I acted as if I was reading the back cover, but I had already read the back cover at least a thousand times before. I could've just left the room, but that would've left things in an even more awkward mood than before. My heartbeat wasn't regular; I couldn't stop it from missing beats. _Don't let him do this to you, Marian,_ I kept telling myself. _Don't let him think you're weak._

I opened my mouth to speak to Robin, but I stopped when I saw the expression on his face. It was of pure curiosity, a look that he had giving me earlier in the day. The same glint was shining his eyes. The rest was indescribable.

"What?" I asked—or more like choked out.

In a blink, that curious expression had disappeared, and a clever look took its place. "Pardon?"

"You were looking at me funny," I told him, with much amusement.

"Was I?" he said practically, putting on his innocent face.

This was never ending. I tried to hide a smile. Wait—why had possessed me to smile in the first place? My heart skipped yet another beat. Sparks flew through my veins. _Make it stop,_ I begged to myself, the urging smile vanishing. "H-how's your leg doing?" I managed out barely. I decided to take the high road and be nice—for now.

Robin's eyes drifted toward his wrapped up leg. He gave a shrug. "It _has_ had better days," he mumbled.

I cleared my throat, not very prepared for what I was going to say next. "If there's anything you need, you may tell me." I felt my face go beat red. I hated having to tend to someone's needs. I would soon gain the title of "Maid Marian". I would have almost _died_ if anyone were to call me that. I was no ones maid! But I forced myself to be kind to this boy, who was wounded after all. "My father will be returning with food soon," I said through gritted teeth. What torture I went through.

Robin only nodded, thankfully. But there were still questions unanswered. The tale he told earlier, about how wolves attacked him last night. I knew that wasn't true. It couldn't have been true. They weren't many wolves in Sherwood in the fall. And the way he spoke—no, it couldn't have been true.

"What really happened to your leg?" I blurted out, startling myself more than Robin.

He stared at me blankly, blinking rapidly, like I was crazy. My cheeks went warm all over again. "Wolves," he answered meekly. Liar.

I squinted at him. "You must've misheard me. What _really_ happened?"

He averted his eyes away from mine. I smirked slightly at my victory. "I'm not stupid, Locksley," I told him, silently but firmly. "I will know the truth, sooner or later."

With that said I spun around and marched back to the doorway.

"Wait," Robin said quickly from behind me. I inhaled and held it as I turned to face him, expecting the very worst explanation. Instead, he asked, "Could you close the door on your way out?"

My blood burned inside as I left the room, slamming the door behind me. I let out an angry squeal that I had been holding in all afternoon. I stomped down the stairs just as my father was coming in through the front doorway, two bags of groceries in his arms. I stopped in front of him and he beamed at me.

"Hi, Marian. How's our patient doing?" he asked joyously.

I let out another angry squeal, louder that time, and I stomped over to my couch to read my book.

--

**Oooh, someone's pissed off. Haha! Please review and let me know what you think of this chapter. I love getting your reviews; suggest what you want to happen next, or what you THINK will happen next, or if you love this story or hate it. I wanna hear it all. Thank you guys, love yas! **

**STAYED TUNED for CHAPTER FIVE!**

**a haunting comes into Marian's dreams. can you guess who it is?**

**xoxo, hayley**


	6. Just A Dream

**Hey guys! Really hope I'll be able to update soon after this, because school might get in the way. I'll keep writing, I promise. Okay, here's chapter five!**

**--**

**CHAPTER FIVE - Just A Dream**

**--**

_My vision is so blurry; I can't see a single thing. There are not many colors, though. There is brown, there is green, and there is gray. I am in a forest? The wind is howling around me, circling me until I am forced to tighten the hold of my cloak. I see a flash of brightness, lighting up what is above me. Lightening? I glance around for help. Am I alone? I do not like this place . . ._

"_Marian . . ."_

_A distant, feminine voice is calling me. I look. There is a figure walking over to me. It is blurry, but I can make out her features—wavy chestnut hair, blowing wildly in the wind around her; deep, green eyes staring directly into mine; a smug smile warming her striking face. I am frozen. I can barely make out the word; "Mum . . .?"_

_She is speaking to me, but I cannot hear her words. I am calling for her, but she does not even answer. Her arms open up, expecting me. The wind trickles up and down my spine. I am running, wanting to run into her arms, hug her, never ever let go. I am only a foot away from her, only a tiny step away. I am expecting to crash into her arms. But . . . she is fading. She is fading away from me, turning into air, waving good-bye. I scream, tumble, and fall, my face stuck in the ground, dirt in my mouth._

_Laughing. Mocking laughing, coming ever direction, ringing in my ears. I jump up and look around, for my mother, for anybody. Blurry. I can't see a thing. The laughing is getting louder, hurting my eardrums, torturing me. "Shut up, shut up, shut up!" I screech, covering my ears. Everyone is laughing at me. The joke is always on me. _

_Hush. The world turns quiet all of a sudden. The laughing is gone. The only sounds are the wind howling and my own whimpering. I am not alone anymore. My vision is somewhat clearer. I look up. I am in a field, a grey, dark forest behind me. Someone in a head of me, nearly a mile away. I cannot see who, for he is wearing a big hood over his head. There is something in his hands. He raises it up and pulls a string back. Then I realize; a bow and arrow. I yell, beg, plead him not to release it upon me. He does not listen. I try to run, but I am frozen. The world is quiet, the wind stops. I scream again and he releases the arrow . . ._

I didn't realize it at first, but when I woke up I was screaming my head off. By the time I stopped, I couldn't breath. My heart pounded, so hard I thought it might burst out of my chest. At first glance, I didn't know where I was. I expected to be standing in front of a forest, looking over a field, an arrow plunging into my stomach. Instead, I found myself lying on the sofa of my warm home, safely. The memory of the nightmare sank in; my mother, fading away into thin air; the hooded figure with the bow and arrow, looking to kill me; the laughter. My lips quivered. I couldn't help it; I was already too close to tears.

I barely realized my father leaning over me, alert and shocked with his eyes wider than ever. "Marian, what is it? Are you okay? Blimey, you were yelling in your sleep! Are you alright?"

My father threw questions at me like a boxer threw punches. I found my breath again, but still did not speak. He put his hand on my shoulder as I breathed in and out deeply. "A nightmare?" I nodded, barely. "Marian, everything is okay now. You're here. You're safe."

_For how long?_ I almost asked. Instead, I reached my arms up and around my father's neck, feeling at least a little bit of comfort from his hug. As he held me tight, my eyes welled up with tears and I no longer cared who saw . . .

"Is everything alright?"

His voice startled me and I flew apart from my father. At the top of the staircase was Locksley, standing on his left leg to keep his right leg from injuring even more. I was shocked to see him there, even more shocked that he _walked_ all the way there! I guessed he had to hop on his one good leg. He looked the same as he did the day before; his face was still smudged and scratched from "wolves", his wore the same old rags, and I could smell his horrible odor from the couch. There was a change in his expression, though. He looked worried, concerned, even a bit guilty. I guessed he hadn't forgotten our little conversation the day before.

"I heard screaming," he muttered, his eyes darting from my father to me. He kept his hand on the wall, to keep him standing.

"Robin, you're walking!" Father gasped, standing up straight. "You're not supposed to be walking!"

"Oh, I'm alright," he assured him, and took another glance in my direction. It pained me deeply, but I forced all my emotions of remorse and sorrow away and tried hard to push the nightmare and memories out of my head. I hid my eyes from Locksley. I wouldn't be able to take it if _he_ had seen me crying.

"Are you okay?" I heard him ask. Surely he was addressing me.

"I'm fine," I snapped, not looking at him. I forced myself to be strong in his presence. "Go away."

"Marian, don't be rude," Father scolded. He turned to Robin. "Marian just had a nightmare, Robin. You outta get back to bed. We wouldn't want to stress your bad leg. I'll bring you breakfast in a moment. Do you take your toast with margarine or jam?"

"Jam, please. I never really liked margarine."

"Really? Neither does Marian."

At the mentioning of my name, I dared myself to take a gaze at Locksley, hoping my eyes weren't red or puffy. He stared back with a look in his eyes that said, "Please forgive me". I recapped on the day before. I had woken up, ate breakfast, practiced archery. The usual. Father attempted to leave for the market, found an unconscious boy in our yard, brought him into our home, and is now serving him toast with jam. Of all the strange things in the world . . .

I continued the recap: Locksley woke up; Father went to the market; Locksley and I had a useless conversation (or argument); I ate dinner with Father while Locksley ate in my room; I read Peter Cottontail twice; and I fell asleep on a rather bumpy couch. Then I dreamt of my mother, whom I haven't had dreamt of since her death. To see her then, in my dreams—it felt like agonizing torture.

"_Are_ you okay, sweetie?" my father asked me in a soft voice.

I nodded slowly, even though I didn't feel okay at all.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

I shook my head. If I even mentioned Mum, he might have a breakdown or something. Father just nodded and gave me another hug. I made it a quick one, knowing Locksley was still watching me.

My father then walked back to the kitchen. "Come eat breakfast, sweetie," he told me. I really wished he would quit calling me sweetie.

I rose from the couch and had to find my balance, for I was still trembling a little. I walked quickly into the kitchen and out of Robin's sight. There was three plates of toast on the table; one with margarine, one with jam, one plain. My father hastily spread grape jam on the last piece of toast and handed the plate it to me. "Would you give this to Robin, please?" he asked me breathlessly as I took the plate. Then he rushed to the teapot, which he probably thought was about to explode.

I reluctantly came out of the kitchen and towards the staircase. Locksley still stood at the top, looking down on me. I didn't meet his eyes until I climbed the top of the stairs. I stood a step away from him and stuck the plate out to him. He studied me for a moment, studying the expression on my face. I strained myself to stare into those beautiful hazel eyes and stay as firm as I could. I shook the plate a bit. "Take it," I ordered, wanting to get out of this situation.

Robin's eyes moved to the plate, then back to me. "Thanks," he mumbled, taking the plate. But before I could let go, he leaned in closer. I almost stepped back, but I knew if I did, I would've sent myself (and him) tumbling backwards. So I just stood there, slightly feeling his breath on my cheek. A blush crept up my neck as waited for him to speak.

"Are you sure you're okay?" he questioned me, his voice just above a whisper.

I pushed him back away from me, but not enough for him to lose his balance (thankfully). "Don't worry about me," I hissed at him threateningly, and turned down the stairs before he could respond. Halfway down, I heard a whistle from behind. My head whirled around and I gave Locksley the most sinister glare I could manage. He grinned cheekily and winked at me before hoping back into my room.

Luckily, I reached the kitchen without having a complete meltdown. My father had just taken his seat at the table after setting a teacup out for each of us. I quietly took the chair across from my father and bit into my toast.

"What a morning!" Father sighed lightheartedly.

_You're telling me._

We ate in silence for a while longer. My father obviously got the memo that I didn't feel like chatting. I appreciated him for minding his own business. I never finished my toast; I was not very hungry that morning. As I went up to get more tea, Father tried a different conversation.

"What do you think of Robin?"

I paused, really having to think about that question. I thought he was rude. I thought he was annoying. I thought he was a busybody. Most importantly, I thought he was a liar. "Fine," I ended up saying as I poured myself another cup of tea. "More tea, Father?"

"No thank you, darling," he answered as I sat back down. He took a big bite into his toast, chewed, swallowed, and sighed. "He seems nice, doesn't he?"

"Who, Robin? Are we still talking about him?"

"Yes, we are," my father replied curtly.

I gulped down some of the hot tea. "I wouldn't say nice," I murmured vaguely.

Father raised an eyebrow. "Eh? What would you say?" he inquired, with much interest.

I shrugged. How did I get dragged into that conversation? "Not to be rude or disrespectful in any way, although he may act a bit fake with his storytelling." I sipped my tea again, not knowing how that sounded coming out of my mouth.

He looked rather surprised at that. "Storytelling?" Then he realized and rolled his eyes with a groan. "Oh, Marian, please don't tell me you still think he lied about being an orphan."

I scoffed, taken aback. "Father, have you heard the way he talked to you? Ridiculous, if you thought all that was the truth!"

"That's rubbish," he snapped at me. "You've no proof he lied." I couldn't believe my own father was treating me as if we were in court. "Now, you are to be kind to him as long as he stays here. Do not accuse him anymore. Right?"

"Right, Father," I said, clearly defeated. "Sorry."

Father swallowed and hesitated before speaking again. "There is . . . something else I need to confession to you."

Anxiety swooshed through me. "What is it?"

He sighed and met my gaze. "Don't be upset, Marian," he told me, clearing his throat. "At the market yesterday, I saw a sign in the fruit shop. A 'Help Wanted' sign."

I jumped to the conclusion. "You have a job?" I exclaimed, not sure how to react to that news.

He shook his head, looking away from my eyes. "I know, I should've confronted you first before taking the job. But I thought someone might've taken the job before me. I'm sorry."

"Don't be, Father," I told him, unsurely. "That's wonderful."

Father smiled. "You really think so? Oh, I'm happy, Marian! The pay is great, too. Paying off the bills will be much easier. Although the hours are long, it's worth—"

"Wait," I interrupted, realizing the downside to this announcement. "What _are_ the hours?"

"Seven o'clock to three o'clock, Monday through Saturday. Sunday is my day off."

My jaw dropped in alarm. This could not be happening. "So you are going to leave me here for eight hours with a boy you just met _yesterday_?" I cried out. It was one thing going to the market the day before, but to be gone _every_ day? Was he crazy? He seemed as if he could care less of what would happen to me!

He winced. He had seen this coming. "You haven't seen the bills, Marian. I'm hardly getting by. It'll all be worth it."

"Father, you don't get it!" I couldn't help yelling. "You don't _know_ him! You don't what he could be capable of!"

"Marian, stop screaming!" he commanded me.

"I'm not! I'm—I'm just upset."

Father sighed, running his fingers through his hair. I didn't realize it then, but now I know how hard this must've been for him. "Look, why don't we go talk to Robin about this?"

"I don't want to talk to him," I muttered disinterestedly.

"Well, you're going to have to."

Before I could protest yet again, my father rose from his chair, breakfast forgotten, and he grabbed my hand, nearly dragging me from my seat. By the time we reached the staircase, I had a serious headache. I could hardly process everything that had and was happening that morning. I let Father drag me up the stairs and into my room. There he was, lying on my bed, eating his toast like did not have a care in the world. Fury filled in my heart as I watched him. He was completely oblivious to what was going through my mind.

"Eh, Robin?" my father started, almost sounding nervous. "We've something to tell you."

Locksley looked up at us and nodded, placing the plate on _my_ nightstand. "Of course," he said _politely_. What a show.

Father cleared his throat and I crossed my arms and looked the other way. I did not plan on entering this conversation. "I accepted a job yesterday down at the market. It's everyday except today, Sunday, from seven to three. Those are the hours I won't be home."

"So I should get out of here before tonight?"

I shot a glance at Locksley, surprised beyond belief. Did he just _offer_ to leave? Had he heard our discussion downstairs? I glanced at my father, whom looked just as astounded as I did. "Get out of here? Why would you say that?" he asked him. I even I was curious of the answer.

Robin shrugged casually. "Well, although you both seem like very generous people, we all just met yesterday. And I am older than Mar—your daughter. I would doubt you would want me here alone with her, though I mean absolutely no harm to her or your home."

Self-consciously, I gazed at him sideways, my arms unfolded. Could he have lied just that moment? No. I didn't let myself believe it. Only seconds before, I had thought of this boy as the scum of the earth. Now, I didn't know what to think of him.

He continued, sitting up in my bed. "Really, I understand. I can go find an inn or just back to Locksley. It isn't _that_ far away." He smiled merely.

Father actually started chuckling. I didn't see what was so funny. "Robin, you cannot even walk," he stated through laughs.

Robin's big eyes lit up. "I can hop."

"All the way to Locksley?"

"I'll manage."

"What if the wolves come back for seconds?" I asked him with a small smirk.

"Marian!" my father gasped. I gave him an innocent look. He shook his head, turning back to Robin. "You're staying here until you are fully healed. That's an order." He smiled warmly at him. "I just want to know I can trust you and Marian can trust you."

Robin nodded, assuring us. "Of course. You have my trust."

My father turned to me, raising an eyebrow as if to say, "See? Told ya so". I sighed, once again having to face another defeat. "Fine," I said, turning to Locksley. He stared at me expectantly. I still wasn't sure about him, but what choice did I have? "Welcome to the family."

--

**Thanks for reading! Keep reviewing, tell me what you think. Thanks a bunch, byeee!**

**--**

**xoxo, hayley**


	7. The Switch

**what's up guys! alright, i know i haven't updated in literally months. im sorry ... don't hate on me. anyways, i looked this up today and thought i might as well update, see if any actaually reads, haha. i'd really apprectice if you do. and i know this chapter is realllly short. its sorta a test, you see if people read. so, um, read i guess, lol.**

**THE SWITCH!**

* * *

My sleepy eyes opened to a beautiful sunset. I was waking from an afternoon nap, apparently. From the looks of things, Father should've been home any minute from work. A good mood, I was in. I stretched my arms lazily, sat up straight, and glanced over my shoulder. And you won't believe what I saw.

"What are you doing?!" I exploded.

And there was Locksley, in the middle of the staircase, attempting to walk down the stairs on his bad leg. He looked so concentrated, taking awfully careful steps, gripping onto the railing for dear life. Was he crazy? It had been barely a week since we had found him lying in our yard and now he thought he was ready to walk out our door? I didn't mean to yell but the shock took over me. I guess the shock took over him too, because the second my voice was heard, his concentration was broken and he toppled down the rest of the staircase. My laziness had disappeared and I was up and about, rushing over to his aid. He lied there on the hardwood floor, moaning like he was constipated or something.

"Are you dense?!" I asked him seriously as I attempted helping him up. The cloth he was wearing as a bandage was coming off halfway, flapping against his not-yet healed skin. He wobbled under my control and grabbed my arm to steady himself.

When he was standing, he breathed out a sigh of relief. "I must be," he answered with a small smile down at his injury. He glanced at me briefly. "Sorry if I woke you."

"Why didn't you wake me?" I demanded, pulling away my arm and turning the blame to him. "You know you can't walk!"

Robin shrugged guiltily. "Had to try sometime," he replied, taking a couple caution steps. "I couldn't live in your room for the rest of my life."

I crossed my arms and leaned against the end of the railing, watching him amusingly take baby steps around the room. I hadn't talked to Robin much since Father applied for his job. What was there to say? He was immobile, so staying out of his way was best for everyone. At least, I thought so.

Grinning, I questioned, "So of course you wait until I'm asleep to make your escape?"

He stopped his baby steps and gazed over to me, smiling with his brilliant hazel eyes. "I like a girl who catches on fast," he said in reply.

My whole face flushed out of anger, embarrassment, and shyness. He's just messing with your head, Marian, I realized immediately, and it was true. Why else would he flirt with a baby girl like me? "Why are you so eager to get out of here?" I shot hotly.

"Why are you so eager to keep me here?" he shot back, a playful expression on his obnoxious yet compelling face.

Surprised beyond belief, I straightened myself. "I'm not!" I protested.

"Fine. Then I'll have you know I plan to leave here by Thursday."

"By Thursday?" I let out a sharp laugh, puzzling him. "You just fell down the stairs and you think you can waltz out all the way to Locksley? Or wherever you're from." I muttered out the last sentence.

Robin didn't answer immediately. He continued stepping around in circles, faster and faster. Eventually he tripped over, his back smacking against the wall. He wasn't hurt; in fact, he silently chuckled to himself of what a klutz he was being. Then he turned his head slowly towards me. "What makes you assume I'm form anywhere but Locksley?" he asked, in a quieter tone that made my stomach flip flop.

I shook my head, reserved. "Because I don't trust you," I answered automatically. "And I know you've lied to us." _That's right, keep your ground._

He chuckled, but held my gaze. "Maybe a little."

"You admit it?"

"A little."

I studied him.

"But I will tell you I am really from Locksley," Robin assured me. He kicked himself off the wall, stumbling towards the couch.

I followed him. "So then why are you here--and injured?"

"Ah, that," he said, pointing a finger, "that you have to find out for yourself."

Locksley plopped down on the couch--my couch. I crossed my arms over my chest again, frustrated, frustrated with him. I was the one letting him into my house, taking caring of him, providing him food and a roof. Well, my father was, but I was contributing a great deal! He couldn't keep playing these stupid games and keeping secrets. I would give it one last straw--because I think that was all I had left in me.

I watched as Robin played with the zipper on one of the pillows and realized it was the first time he was hanging out on the first floor. "Well, what now? You'll have to go back up there," I told him.

He glanced at me with questioning eyes, then glanced away like nothing was wrong. "No I don't," he told me. And before I had burst with anger, he added, "I could never climb all those stairs. Looks like you got your room back."

I blinked hard. It was true. He had a hard enough time going down the stairs, he couldn't possibly climb back up. My room--my room was finally back! For a split second, I wondered if Robin had actually planned for this to happen, that he wanted me to have my room back . . .

_Don't be silly._

**so guys pleeassee review, let me know what you like, hate, want to change, want to happen next, anything! that's the only way ill know, im not a mind reader lol. let me know if i should keep writing this. alright so um thanks ... if anyones, you know .... reading.**

**later! - hayley**


	8. The Encounter

**Yo yo yo!! What's up guys!! Haaha, in a great mood, becaaaauuuseee i got another chapter in. By the way, there's a handful of people who constantly review my story and I wanted to say thanks, you guys keep me writing. I'll try to keep the chapters coming fast, but I got a lot of stuff coming up; swim team, formal, graduation. But y ou don't want to hear about MY life, you want to hear about Marian's. So here it is!**

**CHAPTER 8 - THE ENCOUNTER**

* * *

It was wonderful sleeping in my own room again. It had only been a week, but feeling my soft, cuddly pillow instead of the crappy couch pillow under my head was just divine. Still, I spent a while in my room just thinking. What was happening here? Robin. Robin of . . . Locksley? So was he really from Locksley? And why won't he admit what really injured him? My head was throbbing, probably from the lack of sleep. I didn't know whether to be nice or be nasty, to believe him or ignore him. He was messing with my head. And my father's. I hugged my knees in the darkness of my room, feeling a cool breeze from the opened window. _Of course, _I thought sleepily, _with my lack of friends, it'd might be nice to have someone to talk to . . . Then again, I don't know much about him . . . or his intentions. _I sighed, too exhausted to think anymore. One thing was for sure, I had to stay strong in his presence, stay fierce and steady. Yeah, fierce and steady. I wouldn't be the victim. Strong and fierce and steady.

_Just like him._

--

The next day was cloudy. Rain seemed likely, but that didn't stop me. It was nearly ten o'clock when I had finished my breakfast. For me, that was called sleeping late, but for Locksley, who was still sleeping like a log on my couch, that was called a day in the life. I felt like digging out that bow and arrow from my room today and practicing. A huge set up for humiliation, but if I didn't practice now, I would never learn.

I know, I know, I wasn't allowed to leave the house with Father at work and all. But what Father didn't know wouldn't hurt. As I sat on the staircase, tying my dirt-caked boots, I gazed over to Robin. I'd like to say he was sleeping like an angel, but that wasn't the case at all. He slept like a slob, with his mouth hanging open and his foot falling off the side of the couch. _What an idiot, _I thought with a smirk. I shouldn't have left him alone in the house. It was stupid. I wasn't thinking . . .

It was frigid outside. The iced winds blew right my way, as if intentionally hitting me. Instead of running back to the house to get my jacket, I kept going. I started towards my favorite tree, the one I had been practicing on for months. My grip tightened around the fragile bow. With a couple of quick glances, no one was around to see me screw up. Thank God.

I stared at the tree, glared at it, studied it. I made a small dent in its bark with the blade of a sturdy butter knife. That was the target. Concentrating, I raised my bow, secured my arrow, pulled it back, and--

"Blimey!" I yelled when the arrow fell pathetically to the ground before the appropriate time. I grabbed it ferociously, and prepared all over again.

This lasted a good five minutes before I actually got the arrow in the air. It never hit the target; it had barely even stuck to the bark. I didn't know how long I was outside. Twenty minutes, thirty . . . maybe even an hour. But it seemed no progress was being made. I was hopeless, pathetic . . . furious. I stopped, panting, and stared at the target again. Yes, I was furious. Furious with the zero progress being made in my skills. Furious with people making fun of me. Furious for having not one friend. Furious at my father, who didn't give a damn about leaving me with a complete stranger, as long as he "seemed nice enough"! And I was furious that I had to share a house with an underhanded, shady, no-good piece of dirt who didn't know how to tell the truth if it kicked him in the ass! I was furious! So furious . . ! So furious that I didn't remember raising the arrow, pulling it back, and hitting the target.

But it was there. My arrow, in the target, in the hole, right in the center. It was there.

And I put it there.

I burst out laughing, a giant smile on my face. All anger was forgotten. I had accomplished my goal. The world suddenly felt a more assured, a more happy place to live. I took a step towards the arrow, hoping to retrieve it and hit that target again and again, and maybe again.

I never got that chance.

With that one tiny step, a hand was clamped over my mouth. I jumped, heartbeat in throat, feeling as if someone was taking over my control. I was in the right mind to bite this hand until it bled, but that would do no good. I was being shoved, dragged, like a prisoner towards the tree, my favorite tree. My face hit the bark hard as I was pushed against it. Trembling, bewildered, my only thought was, _What had I done wrong?_ I felt the presence of a person, an enemy, coming close to me. I was frozen.

"Don't scream, don't be difficult," a deep, masculine voice rasped in my ear. His breath was hot and smelt like a stew gone wrong. "All we need is some answers."

_We?! _He removed his hand from my mouth. Without waiting for permission, I whirled around. Two very tall, very scary men stood before me, wearing armored uniforms in which I couldn't recognize the town. Their expressions were glaring and deadly. If looks could kill, my tombstone would be ready by now.

"You live around here?" one of the officials demanded of me, scratching his filthy-looking beard.

"Y-Yes," I stammered out, then cleared my throat. _Stop being a baby! _"Yes, I lived around here."

The two exchanged suspicious glances that made me cower. "Are you familiar with a kid named Robin Locksley?" the other official asked, who was much skinnier than the first.

Shock hit me like a sand storm in the forest. My eyes were as wide as dinner plates. My throat was burning like I had just swallowed steaming soup. I had to get a grip and say something. Lie.

"I don't r-recognize the name," I told them unsteadily. My voice, my actions, my giant eyes; that was what gave me away. Basically everything about me gave me away. I was hopeless when it came to lying.

When the two men exchanged another glance, I thought I might throw up right there. I was done for. Where did I go from here? Take off running? They couldn't catch me, could they? Well, maybe the skinny one -- though the armor could weigh him down. Call for help? No, no, there was no one around! Climb the tree? Hm . . .

"Alright, we're going to have to know exactly where you live right now," the bearded official commanded me, taking a step towards me.

_Poof!_

No, I did not do a magic trick and disappear before their eyes. No, my fairy godmother didn't show up to rescue me. A strange thing happened, something unexplainable, something that may have saved my life entirely. At that very second, from the corner of my eye I saw something small falling to the ground in front of me. Before I could even wonder what it was, it exploded. Not a big explosion; just a tiny click that was enough to release a gas-like substance. It went everywhere and spread quickly, taking up the space between the officials and myself. I heard them yelling in dismay and footsteps surrounded, along with the giant fog that never left my sight. By that time, I had realized what had saved me; a smoke bomb.

Without warning, a warm hand grabbed my wrist and was tugging me, dragging me aggressively. I resisted, but the hand was too strong for my petite body. I screamed, but the hand only tightened its grip. I even tried biting it, but nothing would stop it. As I ran with a hand clamped to my wrist, the clouded smoke was clearing slowly. I was still in the woods, but the official's voices were faint in my ears. The figure holding my wrist was panting, no taller than a teenager, probably male, with a hood the size of--

"Let go!" I screeched and twisted Robin's arm with my free hand. We had escaped the fog and were clear away from the officials. Robin winched, twisted, and finally released my wrist, which was probably broken.

"What just hap--?!" I screamed at him, although before I could finish, he lunged towards me. I fell backwards, his full weight on top of me, in a most awkward position. He wrestled me a moment, I think trying to cover my mouth. "Get off!" I roared like a maniac, trying to knee him.

"Stop screaming! They'll hear you!" he barked at me, not angrily, but almost desperately. I pushed him away and he tumbled backwards and, to my utter surprise, let out a cry. A real cry, like a wolf let when it had been beaten down. It took me a moment to realize he was clutching his leg. His injured leg.

It hit me like ice water. He was running. On an injured leg. On a leg he couldn't run on. My mood switched from confused and furious to concerned and -- confused. "Robin--?" I started, but I couldn't think of what to say. Everything had happened so fast, so completely fast.

Robin breathed deeply, laying there in the grass, holding his leg like it might pop off (which was possible at this point). Slowly, his head turned towards me. Shockingly, he managed a hint of a smile and said the most ridiculous thing to say at a time like that.

"… just tell me … they didn't hurt you … "

* * *

**Thanks for reading! If you loved it, hated it, or somewhere in between, let me know and review. More coming!**

**-Hayley**


End file.
